


The Warmth Inside His Jumper

by 2babyturtles



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 21:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15057995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2babyturtles/pseuds/2babyturtles
Summary: Possibly, there is one thing to thank Sherlock Holmes for, and it's his absence on this particular night.





	The Warmth Inside His Jumper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luckybarton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckybarton/gifts).



> Written for the lovely @luckybarton!
> 
> The usual disclaimer: I'm an American and only know bits and pieces of things about British culture and London, so if there are inaccuracies in law enforcement/criminal justice terminology or facts about the locations, vocabulary, etc., I do apologize.

The wind is howling, but that’s pretty normal for a wintry London evening. Sherlock is absent, and that’s pretty normal too.

“Do you think he’ll be back before it’s time to go?” Greg asks, rubbing one hand cross his face as he checks his watch on the other wrist. John raises an eyebrow at him.

“It was time to go an hour ago,” he replies drily. “At this point, I don’t care two sweaty bollocks when he’s back, I just want to leave.”

Greg stifles a laugh and John presses his lips together into a flat line. He appreciates that Greg manages to stifle his sense of humor when John is so obviously irritated but he can’t quite bring himself to find it funny yet.

“Well, I drove in today so I can drop you off at baker Street if you want,” Greg tells him after another moment. He stretches his back and John thinks that he looks rather like a bear coming out of hibernation. Not a very big bear, but one of the fuzzy ones that you see in the zoo in the spring.

“I don’t want to go to Baker Street,” John says, more to himself than anything else. It’s his turn to rub his hands across his face and when he’s done, he hangs his head in his palms. Tonight has been a disaster and he doesn’t want to be the one waiting up for his flatmate again. He’d love to go to bed—it’s not out of concern that he waits up for Sherlock, although he is concerned—but the consulting detective becomes the raucous detective when he arrives home late and the noise wakes John up.

Greg is quiet for a moment as he works his jaw, apparently trying to figure out how to say whatever words are coming to mind. He glances around awkwardly for a moment, shifting in his chair, but doesn’t seem interested in the clock on the wall or his watch and John wonders what makes him so anxious if not the time of night.

It isn’t the first time he’s ended up alone with the detective inspector at some ungodly hour, almost always due to Sherlock’s misdeeds, and it’s not the first time John’s felt the noticeable rise in electric tension in the room. He’s often wondered if Greg feels it too, but somehow doubts that he could ignore it. Perhaps it’s overconfidence, but John is sure Greg has some things he doesn’t know how to say about John. John probably has some things he doesn’t know how to say about Greg, too, if he’s honest with himself.

“You could come to my flat then?” Greg finally manages, practically spitting on himself as he bursts out the question.

For just a moment, John basks in the feeling of being right.

“Right then,” he replies, only half as suave as he intended to be. “Yeah we could…yeah.”

“Only if you want to.” His eyes are full of questions but Greg Lestrade is already on his feet and reaching for his coat and keys. John is sure that his own eyes answer what’s unspoken between them.

They’re halfway to Greg’s flat before either of them mentions Sherlock again.

“Do you think it’s right to just leave him? What if something bad really has happened?” John murmurs, peering out the window at the darkened streets as if a slim figure in a Belstaff might emerge from an alleyway. He turns to see Greg’s expression when no reply is forthcoming.

To his surprise, Greg’s foreheaded is knotted in concern. It’s an entirely pleasant expression, despite the obvious worry behind it, and John stifles a laugh this time.

“We could try his phone again?” Greg suggests. “I’m not too worried but it wouldn’t be the first time Sherlock’s gotten himself in trouble.”

John is quiet. “Not the first time we’ve bailed him out, either,” he mumbles.

They don’t say much more until they pull up on Greg’s street and he puts the car in park. The darkness is comforting somehow, like a hug, and the howling wind keeps the oppressive silence at bay. John can hear Greg’s soft breathing and wonders what his breath tastes like for just a moment before whisking his thoughts away from the topic.

“I’d really like for you to stay,” Greg begins, clearly steeling himself to say something else. “But if you’re worried, I can take you home and we can wait for Sherlock there. I’ll wait with you if you don’t want to be alone.”

John smiles in the dark, small at first as he nibbles his bottom lip, and then bigger as a chuckle bubbles from his throat. He suddenly feels warm inside his jumper. “That means a lot,” he replies, hoping his tone makes it clear that he’d rather stay here than go home. “But I-“

John’s phone rings and it’s like a stab from the lightning that hasn’t yet rolled in with the storm. He wonders if it’s a sign of more black clouds to come. Greg had been looking at John in the dark but looks away. John knows just as well that this call is probably from Sherlock and that he has no real reason to stay with Greg tonight, now. Other than the warm feeling inside his jumper.

“Hello?” John answers the phone.

“John, yes, come get me now please.” Sherlock’s voice crackles from the other end of the line and the all-too familiar sound of officers and clanging metal doors is clear in the background.

“What are you talking about, Sherlock? We waited hours for you.” John turns to glance at Greg but the detective inspector is still looking away. John frowns and suddenly decides. “We’re not going to bail you out every time you need help.”

Greg’s head snaps around and his eyes are wide when he looks at John, a smirk growing on his face.

“Ah, very good deduction, John, I do indeed need you to bail me out. Now, it’s only a minor offence, and I’m quite sure Lestrade can help everything get sorted. I presume that’s who you mean when you say ‘we.’ In any case, I haven’t really been charged for anything serious and you can certainly-“

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” John responds. He’s much more interested in the light in Greg’s eyes than in whatever misdemeanor got Sherlock locked up for the night.

He hangs up his phone and mutes the ringer, leaving it in the car for good measure as he follows Greg up the walk to his flat. There’s a warm feeling inside his jumper he’s hoping the detective inspector will help him investigate.


End file.
